


Property of No One

by AureliaBlack90



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, BAMF Hermione Granger, Badass Harry Potter, Best Friend Theo Nott, F/F, F/M, Fight Club AU, Harmony - Freeform, Hermione owns a motorcycle, New Year New Moodboard fest piece, Previous Hermione Granger/Antonin Dolohov, Sexy Harry Potter, The Dark Arts Society
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22065538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AureliaBlack90/pseuds/AureliaBlack90
Summary: She's not a girl to mess with - and everyone knows it. She rides a Harley and is the local pub's champion underground fighter and she lives life on her own terms. But what happens when she comes face to face with the man that carved his mark into her chest and left her for dead? And who is the man with the dark, mysterious eyes that she keeps seeing from across the room? Fight Club Motorcycle Muggle AU
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 74
Collections: New Year New Mood board





	Property of No One

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for The Dark Arts Society New Year New Moodboard fest, inspired by Prompt #27.
> 
> Playlist:  
> Kiss with a Fist by Florence & The Machine  
> No Good by Kaleo  
> Dangerous Woman by Ariana Grande  
> The Whistler by The White Buffalo  
> Into You by Ariana Grande

The pub was crowded and noisy by the time Hermione arrived. She glanced at the clock hanging near the door as she shouldered her way up to the bar, cursing under her breath at the realization that she really should have been downstairs and warming up by now. Hermione swung her motorcycle helmet up onto the bartop and flagged down the bartender, who was over in a flash - earning a few complaints from the customers that had been waiting.

“Yeah, yeah, shut your gobs; you’ll get your turn!” Seamus shouted as he slid a shot of whiskey to her. “Running late tonight? Theo’s not going to be happy.” He warned as she threw back the alcohol with ease.

“Theo’s unhappy no matter _what_ I do, Sea. My girl’s been giving me trouble again, lost track of time while I was trying to work out a kink,” she shouted over the din, catching the second shot he had poured and downing it in one.

“Which girl, _Pansy_ or Quinn?” her longtime friend smirked and Hermione just rolled her eyes, taking the second shot with ease. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a man a few seats down was watching her intently, but she paid him no mind.

“As if Pansy would ever give me trouble,” she quipped, and Seamus threw his head back with a laugh. Hermione shot him a wink before banging one hand on the bar in thanks, grabbing her helmet and fighting through the crowd towards the back of the pub. She rifled through her duffel for athletic tape with one hand as she descended the first flight of stairs, swearing at a couple of barely legal teenage boys that rushed by her, nearly causing her to trip.

“Fucking kids,” she grumbled. Just as she began to descend the second flight, the door at the bottom of the stair popped open and an explosion of sound escaped, revealing Theo Nott on the other side.

“Cutting it a little close don’t you think, Granger? The fuck have you been?!” he hollered when he saw her, holding the door open for her to pass by. The room was packed to the brim, and they had to shove their way through the raucous crowd in order to get to the sidelines of the ring. Hermione dropped her helmet and duffel to the ground, quickly shucking off her jean jacket that bore the words _property of no one_ on the back along with her worn-out military boots. Theo paced back and forth beside her while she yanked her T-shirt over her head and unbuttoned her jeans, slipping them over her narrow hips and tugging them clumsily off her feet. It was second nature for her to ignore the series of wolf whistles she received as her sports bra and practical black knickers were bared to the men nearest to them. Theo, on the other hand, was not quite so tolerant.

“Fuck off!” he shouted on her behalf, and he continued to pace while she pulled on her boxing shorts but forwent a T-shirt. Hermione had long since learned that she preferred to fight in only her sports bra. Not only was it more comfortable, but it showcased the long, jagged scar that ran down her sternum - and she wore that battle wound proudly.

She wanted people to know that she had been through hell, and had come back stronger than ever.

Hermione drew her hair into two plaits while she watched Theo with a quirked brow. He glanced at his watch and then began peering around the room as though he was expecting someone. Hermione followed his eyes and noticed the same man from the bar standing a short distance away, still watching her intently. Disheveled black hair, brooding eyebrows, a 5’oclock shadow across an impressive jawline, a pair of military boots not unlike her own.

Hermione shook her head and thought nothing more of it.

“What the hell’s got your knickers in a twist, Nott?” Hermione laughed at the scowl marring his features while she wrapped her knuckles with athletic tape and began to jog in place. “I’ve been nearly late before and it’s always been fine.”

“Just tell me your head is in the game, Granger,” he implored as she continued her warm-up, going through the motions of her shadow-weave drills. Her muscles began to wake up, and as her heartbeat rose she couldn’t help but smile. The worries of the day quickly slipped away as she focused more deeply on her breath and on the movements she had committed to memory.

“Of course my head is in the game, you tosser,” she laughed, wondering what had worked Theo into such a tizzy. Just as the bell rang to signal the last round of the current match, Theo slipped a pair of pads onto his hands and like a well-oiled machine, Hermione turned to strike the pads with two quick jabs, an uppercut, a hook, a rapid duck and weave - and repeat.

“Well, it better be - because there’s been a change of plans.”

Hermione faltered in the middle of the set but continued when Theo narrowed his eyes at her, silently instructing her to continue.

“Okay - who am I going up against then?” she enquired in between jabs. Theo looked at her for a long moment, as though trying to find the right words to give an unfortunate bout of news.

“Look, Mione - I tried to tell them it was a bad idea, but they wouldn’t take no for an answer when they heard he was back in town. They knew they could make a lot of money on the two of you getting back in the ring.”

Hermione’s heart stuttered and she stopped her warm-up altogether.

“You’re joking, Theo,” she growled, and the smile that had felt inevitable just moments before disappeared completely.

“You’ve got this, Mione. You’re ready.” Theo’s eyes were liquid steel, brooking no argument from her. “Just stay focused and don’t let him get in your head, okay?”

Hermione nodded absently, her ears ringing with the cheers of the crowd as the victor of the completed match pumped both fists into the air. Theo gave her a firm pat on the shoulder and one last encouraging word before she pulled herself up into the ring and got a glimpse of one man she’d hoped to never see again.

Antonin Dolohov.

Their eyes met from opposing corners of the ring, and the world fell away. She watched as he glanced down at the scar on her chest - the one he had put there - and back up to her face with a smirk.

Hermione’s blood ran cold, and she had the immediate urge to turn and run. She looked back down at Theo and he shook his head _no_ as she silently implored him to put a stop to this.

 _You can do this_ , he mouthed to her.

With a nod and a reminder to herself to stay warm, she began to move. She stretched her arms behind her back, above her head, shook out her wrists, bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, soothing herself with the familiar movements as she waited for the bell. While he spoke with his own team she observed him, satisfied to see that he hadn’t changed in the intervening years since she had trained under him; since she had loved him.  
Just under six feet with intensely defined abs and biceps, Antonin would make for an intimidating opponent even without their history. His left arm was covered in a comprehensive sleeve, with sprawling Russian script running down the length of his right. Blue veins in his hands and arms stood stark against his pale skin, and an angry red scar on his left cheekbone appeared to still be fresh.

“Next up, weighing in at only one hundred and fifty-five pounds, we have our longtime female warrior and house champion, Hermione Granger!” Lee Jordan’s voice rang around the room as the crowd cheered for her, and she lifted one hand in a wave, her face set in grim determination.

“But her opponent is not just any ordinary bloke, ladies and gentlemen! Weighing in at two hundred and twenty pounds is the very man that _trained_ our Hermione and has his own long list of victories - give it up for Antonin Dolohov!” The crowd went wild at Lee’s behest. Hermione forced herself to drown out Lee’s voice as he continued to whip the patrons into a bidding frenzy, calling out the odds of who would come out on top.

If Hermione was looking at the fight objectively, would she bet _for_ or _against_ herself?

The last time she had seen Antonin was through swollen lids as he walked away after nearly beating her to death - so she wouldn’t say the odds were great. She could still remember the feel of his cold blade cutting into her skin as he traced it down her chest, leaving a trail of bright red blood in its wake.

 _Things are different now_ , she reminded herself. _I’m better - and stronger - than I ever was when I was with him_.

Hermione glanced back at Theo as Lee began to call out the house rules. While it may be an underground fight club with illegal gambling, there were still rules - like no eye-gouging, always obey the bell, stop when an opponent taps out or loses consciousness, etc.

Anything else was fair game.

Theo pointed his finger at her and mouthed the words _you got this_ one last time.

Hermione looked back and met Antonin’s eyes, and when his lips curled into a self-satisfied smile, as though there was _no doubt_ in his mind that he was going to win, a fury like Hermione had never known sparked inside of her. A fury that had her instantly laser-focused on his every move, blood pumping through her veins in slow motion. She lifted her fists and narrowed her eyes, her core taught and her arms ready to swing.

The bell sounded and they both stepped forward, circling each other. Their last encounter flashed through Hermione’s mind as she ducked and dove for the first sixty seconds, keeping her movements light and quick.

_A punch to the face and then to the gut and she had gone down._

Antonin continued to advance with that ridiculous smirk, but Hermione was saving her strength. Let him wear himself out throwing punches - she would keep it for when it counted.

_A kick to her abdomen as she lay on the floor, and she had tried to get up - but he cuffed her across the head, knocking her back down._

_Then he had taken out his knife._

She avoided his fist and focused on her breathing, and before she knew it the first round was over. Theo met her in the corner and egged her on - _keep it up, Hermione_ \- and then she was back in the ring. The crowd was growing restless, itching for more - always out for blood - but she ignored them.

It was just her and Antonin, and she wasn’t going to be caught unawares again.

_He had left her there - cut up and sprawled out on a cold concrete floor, bleeding._

The second and third rounds passed in a flash, neither of them landing more than a few cursory blows. By the fourth round, Antonin’s smile had vanished and he was nearly snarling with impatience. Hermione felt a kind of grim satisfaction at having got under his skin. She remembered the days when she would strike first - go on the offensive - exert too much too soon, but she was a seasoned fighter now.

She would not be making the same mistakes tonight.

Antonin began to attack with greater speed and backed Hermione into a corner, nearly catching her with a right hook; but even after all this time, Hermione knew his body - she could read him like a book. With a smirk Hermione ducked down, popped back up with lightning speed and caught the corner of his mouth with an elbow jab. Antonin reeled back and spat blood from a cut lip, venomous eyes never leaving hers, a sneer contorting his handsome features.

He was getting worried.

The crowd went wild, cheering at Hermione’s victory of _first blood_.

Hermione retreated to her corner at the bell and Theo leaned in as she wiped the sweat streaming down her face.

“Take it home, Granger,” he growled.

They were back in the ring for the fifth and once again Hermione was backed into a corner, Antonin landing heavy blows to her abdomen and arms while she tucked her head, protecting her face. After a moment she was able to push back - and with an impressive feat of speed, she ducked under an oncoming swing and parried with a blow to Antonin’s left temple.

Gathering all her strength she finally began to advance, landing blow after blow to his head. She swung her foot up and kicked him in the chest, taking advantage of his backward stumble to grab his upper body and slam him to the ground. His back hit the mat with a thud and he tried to protect his face, but she dropped to his chest, pinning him to the ground, and blow after blow hit home.

For a moment, Hermione thought maybe - just maybe - she had him. But with a surge of strength Antonin got his legs wrapped around her and scissored her down to the ground, suddenly on top of her.

Lights blinked in and out as his fists reigned down on her, and all she could think of was how cold that concrete floor had been against her cheek as Antonin had cut into her chest. She was ready to give up when suddenly the bell sounded, and he was gone.

Hermione pried herself from the mat and Theo met her in the corner. Tears pricked in the corner of her eyes, and she began to seriously doubt she could finish when she glanced at the crowd and there he was - the man that kept appearing in her field of vision - and he quirked a brow at her.

It was just a quirked brow, and he was just a stranger. But somehow the questioning gesture took her back to herself.

She could still do this.

Hermione stood and shook off her fall, deciding then and there that she was going to beat this motherfucker or die trying.

The sixth round began and Antonin was on her, backing her up to the wall once again, and he smirked at her like he’d already won. The fury that she had felt at the beginning of the match reignited and her fatigue fell away. She waited until the right moment and attacked.

An uppercut to the jaw - to repay the betrayal.

A kick to the chest - to repay the brutality.

And to finish him, a right hook that sent him falling in slow motion to the mat - to repay him for making her believe she’d deserved it all.

Antonin’s head hit the floor with a loud crack and he didn’t get back up - didn’t get back up - still wasn’t getting back up. The crowd grew steadily louder in her ears as the seconds ticked on, and still - he stayed down. Finally, the 10 count was up, and Theo was in the ring with her, screaming, raising her arm in victory.

It was over.

Hermione looked out at the crowd, a dazed expression on her face, and met a pair of brilliant green eyes from across the ring. He raised a hand in congratulations, and then he was gone.

Behind her, Antonin had come to and was sitting up, watching her with a murderous glint in his eye. He was rushed from the ring by his people, and Hermione paid him no mind. Everything felt hazy - a rush of adrenaline and fear - and she allowed Theo to guide her through the motions.

Several hours later Hermione had drifted down from the high of the win and finally finished with all of the usual post-victory bullshit. She escaped out the back door of the pub and headed down the alley towards her Harley, looking forward to getting home and getting to sleep. The quiet night air was a relief after the over-hot, riotous Irish pub, and Hermione sincerely hoped she wouldn’t have to speak to anyone for the remainder of the evening. After a fight, she usually preferred to be alone and take time to recover, rather than go out and celebrate.

Unfortunately, that was not to be.

Leaning casually against the light post nearest her bike was the man that had been watching her all night. Immediately on her guard, she approached with caution.

“Are you stalking me or something?” She joked, trying to project a confidence she didn’t quite feel. A throaty chuckle escaped his lips, and Hermione watched him for a moment as he took a long pull from his cigarette.

“Nice bike. I like the plate,” he said, chuckling. She glanced back at her little cafe racer, the black and orange paint glinting in the dim light of the streetlamp and highlighting her license plate: FCKOFF

“Thanks,” she laughed along with him. "You ride?” Hermione hung her helmet on the handlebars and tossed her duffel onto the seat to free up her hands - just in case. Underground fighting had made her plenty of enemies, and they didn’t always care about keeping violence constrained to the ring.

Hermione took a moment to examine him as he exhaled, his breath visible in the chilly night air. He looked disheveled in the best way, with a pair of worn black jeans that had nearly faded to grey, and a black t-shirt that put his well-defined pecs and biceps on display. He wore a pair of Military boots - not unlike her own, and held a black leather jacket in one hand.

The combination of all those things put together made him exactly her type - but it was his face that really drew her in.

Dark, brooding, enigmatic.

“Ya, my main ride is a fat bob but I’ve got a few others at home,” he supplied, opening his pack of cigarettes and offering her one. She nodded and took one, stepping closer when he offered her a light.

A pull, an exhale, another sideways glance.

An image of him on a bike flashed through Hermione's mind and her stomach clenched with desire.

“So, is there a reason you’ve been waiting out here for me when we could have spoken inside?” she wondered, now more curious than wary.

“I’m working on a project I think you might be interested in.” Another inhale, another exhale, and Hermione waited in suspense as he paused dramatically - but then said nothing else.

“How do you know I’d be interested? You don’t even know me,” she said matter of factly.

“We have a mutual acquaintance. And judging by the state you left him in tonight, you seem to feel the same about him as I do. I believe we could both benefit from a ...partnership, of sorts.”

Hermione sucked in a breath and her eyebrows shot up in surprise. She didn’t know what he was proposing exactly, but if it had anything to do with mutual hatred of Antonin Dolohov, she was immediately interested. Her desire for a night of quiet at home completely forgotten, she took the bait.

“And if I’d like to get some more details about this potential ‘partnership’ before I agree to anything?”

The man dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his boot.

“Then I’d say let’s head to a more secure location to talk. Preferably one where Dolohov doesn’t have a trap waiting for you around the corner.”

Hermione nearly jerked around to look down the street, but the man grabbed her arm and pulled her close. To an observer, it may look as though he meant to kiss her.

“Don’t give us away,” he hissed. “My bike is just on the opposite side of the alley; I can get you to a safe place and we can talk.”

Hermione nodded and grabbed her helmet and duffel, slinging it over her shoulder.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the trap to start with?” she stage whispered angrily as they crept towards the alley. “And what about Quinn?!” she groaned.

“Who the hell is Quinn?” he whispered back.

“My bike!” she whacked him on the arm in admonition, and he ah-ha’d with a smile.

“ _Harley Quinn_ , I like that. Just text your guy at the bar and tell him to wheel her inside. And would you have believed me if I _had_ told you right away?” Hermione glanced at him with narrowed eyes.

He had a point.

“Why should I believe you _now_?”

He paused and yanked up his T-shirt to reveal a long, jagged scar running down his sternum: a wild bolt of lighting, nearly the same as her own.

Hermione nodded in immediate understanding, and her heart caught in her throat at coming face to face with someone that had undergone the same treatment at Dolohov’s hand. She looked up at him, feeling shaken to her core, but he grabbed her elbow and pulled her onward.

When they came upon his bike at the other end of the alley Hermione stopped and whistled low in appreciation of his high-performance engine and blacked-out paint job. He grinned knowingly and winked at her, sliding his arms into his leather jacket and zipping it up before pulling on his helmet. Hermione felt a bit weak at the knees at the sight of him straddling the bike and pulling it upright. She slid her helmet on and buckled it, waiting for the go-ahead. He opened his visor and looked back to check on her.

“You ready?” he asked and she nodded, sliding onto the tiny back seat behind him. It occurred to her as she slid her visor closed and gripped his hips with her knees that she still didn’t know this bloke’s name.

“What the fuck is your name?” she shouted as he revved the engine. She heard him laugh and felt him reach back and put a large, calloused hand on her knee.

“Call me Harry!” he yelled as he snapped his own visor closed. “Hold on!”

Hermione wrapped her hands around his middle and closed the short distance between them, molding her front to his back just in the knick of time. She screamed in delight as Harry peeled out of the alleyway at top speed, tires squealing as they rounded the corner. In the distance, she could hear a car and a motorcycle or two tailing them, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when she was on the back of this sexy stranger’s Harley, his body between her thighs, racing down a deserted highway in the middle of the night. She whooped as he picked up speed and she just barely caught his answering shout of laughter over the roar of the wind.

Harry reached back and squeezed her thigh one more time, and Hermione knew inherently that she wanted to know more about this mysterious man with the matching lightning bolt scar.


End file.
